Estel Galad Lalaith
by sazza-da-vampire
Summary: Family Matters. Hope. Light. Laughter. Three years before the White Council attacked Dol Guldor, Thranduil sent a company of warriors south with orders to change the situation. Is there anything Legolas can do to lessen the threat in the South? Three years later, when Gandalf finally convinces the White Council to make a move, is it too little, too late? Set just before The Hobbit
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I own nothing recognisable.

Estel. Galad. Lalaith. 2938 of the Third Age

Prologue

Legolas picked up the banner, admiring Ladlaurë's handiwork. The seamstress had truly outdone all Legolas' expectations, and she had created a beautiful standard for Legolas' troops.

The field was white, and the banner was bordered with green vines, twining around the edges, brimming with tiny leaves. In the centre was a single green leaf, bright against the white background. Underneath, neatly lettered in embroidery, were three words. Estel. Galad. Lalaith.

Hope, light, and laughter. _Yes,_ Legolas thought, _I will fight for hope, light and laughter in this darkening forest. _

Tathar and Aldanna met him at the bridge outside the fortress, dressed for a long journey, and fully armed. Brethilríl and Brethildíl soon joined them, and in ten minutes or so the company was complete.

Rílglín Rílmírion was a scout. The dark haired Sinda had been friends with Legolas since he came of age, when he had gotten Legolas and all his age-mates roaring drunk. Today, though, Rílglín was the very picture of tall, dark and handsome, with his bow on his back and a light sword at his hip. At least one elleth was eyeing the scout off, undressing him with her eyes as she watched him mount his horse, though Rílglín paid the elleth – Tauriel, the Captain of the Guard – no more than a friendly wave goodbye.

Aldanna flicked her blonde braids over her shoulder, readjusting her bow to ensure maximum mobility in the forest. Her twin knives, which matched Legolas' closely, rested on her back with her full quiver. Her green eyes assessed each member of this company as they arrived, and her full lips quirked into a smirk when she looked Legolas up and down.

Legolas was wearing a copy of his actual crown, made from silver, as he refused to risk losing the lovely mithril crown of his office, but his father insisted he wear a crown on this patrol, for reasons Legolas could not comprehend. As a compromise, Míruial the King's best jewelsmith, had crafted the delicate piece of metal to decorate Legolas' head while in the South.

Legolas hated it, but he would wear it if it kept his father happy. If Aldanna commented, he would simply make it her responsibility to keep the ridiculous piece of jewellery safe until they returned and Legolas would have to wear it again.

Brethilríl and his sister Brethildíl stood side by side, laughing at some private joke. The siblings shared a touching farewell with their parents, promising to take care of each other, and Brethildíl accepted the saddlebags full of healer's equipment and supplies from her mother, Ladlaurë.

Tathar, as ever, was by Legolas' side, taking his duty as bodyguard very seriously. He kept a hand on his sword hilt as he watched the crowd,, ensuring that no-one could touch the Crown Prince.

Aglarmoth, the Master of Spear, was preceded out of the keep by his long spear. The ellon's light brown hair and burly, muscular figure often made him look mannish, but he carried himself with all the grace of the Elf he was. His many knives were worn in his own style, on his belt in an array of sizes and styles. The elf's impressive frame was dwarfed, though, by Kalhíth, the huge, hulking warrior who crossed the bridge with his massive battle axe strapped to his back.

Kalhîth has once stumbled into Laketown, after being separated from his patrol during an altercation with wargs. Hugely muscular, covered in blood and gore, with his still dripping battle axe in hand, Kalhîth had been mistaken by the townspeople for a vengeful spirit, and ghost stories still occasionally circulated the town on cold autumn nights. The warrior was formidable in a fight, and Legolas had learned, long ago, to ever interfere in the ellon's fights, for when the big Elf went into battle mode, he operated on a 'kill anything that moves' basis, which made him a deadly ally as well as a deadly enemy. It was better to just let the Elf fight insurmountable odds, and Kalhîth always seemed to come out on top.

Tuilë, Agarmoth's sprightly little wife, bounced into the gathering of warriors, waving goodbye to her daughter Lauruial, and called orders to keep Princess Lothlomë safe. Lauruial needed no orders to look after her best friend, though, and was indeed the Princess's bodyguard for that very reason. Tuilë gave her husband a tight hug and a kiss before falling into line with the rest of the patrol as it formed on the bridge.

Tingallos and his son Encalion were the next to arrive, powerful bows strapped to their backs. Tingallos, as Master Archer, had placed himself on this mission to keep an eye on his impulsive son, who had not been on any serious or long missions before, having only come of age a dozen or so years earlier.

Celebglín and Galenmír were the sword-bearing equivalents of the two archers. Master of Sword Celebglín had likewise wished to supervise his young son's first long mission, and Galenmír flushed with embarrassment when he met Encalion's eyes, while his best friend glanced away, unable to hold the eye contact due to his own embarrassment.

Glínornmír, once the Training Master, had been out of a job since Galenmír and Encalion graduated, as there were no more young ones in the forest for him to train. Unwilling to let the chance go by to see so many of his most recent trainees in the field at once, the formidable warrior had volunteered to serve on Legolas' mission, looking forward to the opportunity to see how well his students were performing. Rílglín, Legolas, Aldanna, Tathar, both Brethils, Encalion and Galenmír had all protested at their teacher's inclusion, but Thranduil had, smirking, informed them all that Glínornmír was going, and that was final.

Aldanna snorted with amusement when Belegcû made his way onto the bridge, because Brethildíl blushed so brightly when the object of many late nights' gossip joined the team. Aldanna smirked with a positively evil mischief when the elf warrior glanced at her friend, only to look away quickly, blushing, and rearranging his sword and knives while he shifted his weight uncomfortably. _Oh yes_, Aldanna thought, _this will be fun._

Mallaer and Nar-rhîw were brothers, and the last to arrive, rushing up onto the bridge, Nar-Rhîw with his boots in hand and Mallaer with his hair still loose. The brothers' apparent disorganisation was quickly explained when Eleni stormed up behind them, immediately berating Legolas for stealing so many of her warriors for his patrol. Eleni, the Captain of the Northern Excursions Patrol, was on a year-long hiatus, after her company spent three years flushing goblins out of the plains north of the Greenwood. Legolas shrugged, refusing to apologise for his warriors choices, for he was well aware that quite a few of his warriors were supposed to rejoin Eleni in the North next month, and this mission could well take years. Mallaer, Nar-rhîw and Tuilë had volunteered, and Legolas was glad to have the experienced warriors on the team.

The mission already boasted Legolas and Aldanna, who had bravely (and, perhaps, stupidly) infiltrated Dol Guldor on their first mission South, as well as a few members from the regular Southern Mirkwood Patrol. Tingallos had been Captain of that patrol for as long as there had been a threat in the South, and at his side bad been Neldororn and Malthon, though the King had interfered when they attempted to join this mission. Thranduil had allowed others to go in their place, though, warriors whom Neldororn and Malthon could trust to keep an eye on their sometimes impulsive children. Aglarmoth was one such, as were Tingallos, Celebglín and Belegcû.

Thaliondíl, the High Commander, stood beside the King as Thranduil reminded them of the situation in the South of Mirkwood. Thaliondíl reminded them of their duty, and Thranduil finished with an order, "Bring Hope and Light back to our beloved forest, my son."

That was when Legolas unfurled the standard. "And laughter," he declared in a strong voice.

Cheers rang across the water, and floated on the wind.

_This is what we fight for_, Legolas grinned as he truly realised it, _we fight for hope, that we might have light and laughter in our woodland home._

_With weapons of hope, light and laughter, we can defeat any shadow. _


	2. The South

Disclaimer: I own nothing recognisable

The South

Legolas led the patrol south, keeping an eye out for any sign of Rílglín, as the scout was supposed to be waiting for them if he found a suitable place to make camp. Finally, he heard a horse whinny, and a moment later, the scout's green uniform and the glint of his weapons could be seen through the trees.

So far, the journey south had been uneventful, and the warriors had travelled both over the ground and through the trees, taking turns to lead Brethildíl's horse with its healing supplies and spare items. Legolas, walking through the treetops with Tathar and Aldanna at his side, had been nervous at first, because Tingallos had been his Captain in the past, but to be honest, Legolas was glad that he was present on this mission, as Legolas had never led a real mission before. Having Tingallos on hand could be useful, especially as this was a large mission – eighteen warriors, as opposed to the common patrol of between five and eight warriors.

Legolas called a halt with a single sharp whistle, imitating a birdcall, and the company gathered around Rílglín for his report. All was quiet, which was only to be expected this close to the ElvenKing's Halls – after all, they were still in territory under Captain Tauriel's competitive guard. Rílglín led them to a nearby clearing, with plenty of accommodating trees surrounding the open space. Tuilë immediately cooed over the beautiful wild flowers inhabiting the clearing, inhaling their delicious scent with an expression of pure bliss.

Encalion and Galenmír, as the youngest on the mission, were appointed the task of collecting deadwood for a campfire, while their more experienced fathers set up a firepit, lined with stones and a safe distance from the nearest trees. Belegcû went off in search of fresh water, and a moment later Mallaer and Nar-rhîw followed, their arms full of everyone's waterskins to be refilled.

Aglarmoth and Rílglín went to scout a mile in all directions around the camp.

Tathar, Aldanna, Brethilríl and Glinornmír went hunting, while Legolas, Kalhîth, Tuilë and Brethildíl set up camp, placing bedrolls in comfortable trees and otherwise preparing the site.

A rustle in the leaves caught Legolas' attention. _No-one should be back yet_, he thought, brow furrowing as he concentrated. He withdrew an arrow, setting it to the bowstring, as the sound drew closer.

A soft birdcall floated through the trees, the Greenwood Army's signal for friend, and Legolas relaxed, replacing his arrow in his quiver and setting his bow on a convenient branch.

Kalhîth stood behind Legolas while the two ellyth present in the clearing crossed over to join them, intrigued by this new arrival.

A moment later, four elves gasped as Eleni stepped out into the sunset.

"Captain Eleni," Legolas greeted her, bowing his neck stiffly. "Your arrival is most unexpected."

"Just Eleni," the sometimes terrifying elf warrior corrected, before swiftly kneeling at Legolas' feet. "Prince Legolas, I offer you my service on this mission to the Black South. You have my knives."

Startled, Legolas took a single step back, but Kalhîth pushed him forward. Regaining his balance and grace, Legolas gulped before speaking. "Your offer is gracious, My Lady, but are you not needed in the north next month?"

Eleni did not rise, and spoke to Legolas' shoes. "No, My Prince. The goblins have been pushed back to the mountains, and the King has declared the proposed mission in the Grey Mountains to be too risky. My warriors have been reassigned. I would serve here, if it pleases you."

"I accept your offer of service, Lady Eleni," Legolas stated formally, offering her a hand, which she took, though she did not need help to rise. He was about to speak when another figure appeared in the fading light. It was Eleni's daughter, Nimlos, who had been in Eleni's patrol since the day she passed her Warrior's Trials.

"Prince Legolas," she greeted him with a curtsey. "I would be honoured to join this mission, if you accept."

Legolas hesitated. He did not know Nimlos well, though she was his cousin – her father was his long deceased grandmother's brother – for she had spent much of the last Age on missions with her mother. Everyone in Mirkwood knew the tale of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, a particularly memorable misunderstanding on Nimlos' part during her youth in the early Third Age. Legolas only hoped she had matured somewhat since then, but consented to having her along – after all, nineteen warriors were better than eighteen any day.

"Of course, Nimlos, we would be honoured to serve by your side," he said, and Nimlos curtseyed again, completely ignoring the fact that she looked ridiculous, curtseying while wearing full leather armour and carrying weapons.

Tuilë squealed, and rushed forward to wrap her arms around both Eleni and Nimlos in tight hugs._ Of course_, Legolas remembered, _they were all on the Northern Excursions patrol, and have been for much of this last Age. They are even more in tune with each other than my age mates and I, and perhaps even Tingallos' Southern Mirkwood patrol. _

An hour later, everyone had returned, and were thrilled to have the two additions to their ranks.

Tathar, sitting next to Legolas while they ate dinner, told Legolas all about the hunting trip. "It was like we were trainees again," he whispered, glancing across the clearing to Glínornmír, where he chatted and laughed – loudly – with Kalhîth. "Brethildíl and Aldanna spent the first twenty minutes trying to make Glínornmír fall out of a tree, and then we lost a white buck – can you believe it? A white buck! I think it was the one your father's been chasing for the last year."

"Did Glínornmír fall?" Legolas asked, remembering fondly the time Tathar had actually succeeded in making Brethilríl fall from a tree.

Tathar chuckled darkly. "Why do you think we lost the buck?"

The next three days were much the same, with the exception of the ever-growing darkness. At first, night seemed to come earlier, and morning later, but on the fourth day, the sun never really came out. Game was becoming sparse, and so the elves started taking down any game they passed while travelling, and hauling it to their next campsite on the back of Brethildíl's packhorse – which necessitated each warrior carrying two packs.

After two weeks, they were well and truly within enemy territory. Packs were redistributed, and the horses were sent home, with anything unnecessary. Morning and night could only be told from the highest treetops, and the twenty elves fell into the habit of travelling solely in the branches, trusting the trees to make way for them through the tangled forest.

The first sign of evil came, heralded by a cry of dismay, followed by a snapping of twigs and a thump, as someone fell to the forest floor.

Legolas turned, counted eighteen comrades still in the trees, and looked down to see Kalhîth in a crumpled heap on the detritus. He unfolded his long, thick limbs, and glared upwards at the tree which had dropped him so unceremoniously. He growled, picking up his fallen battle axe, and may well have attacked the tree then and there if Legolas and Brethildíl had not dropped to the ground to calm him down.

Brethildíl was relieved when she could find no serious injuries. Up in the temporary tree-corridor, Eleni and Tingallos were inspecting the space where Kalhîth had fallen from.

When Legolas joined them in the treetops once more, he was dismayed to find a slippery, slimy growth on the tree. It looked like a fungus, and yet not at all natural – it glinted wetly in the weak sunlight, and Legolas realised that the tree it was attached to – _feeding off, perhaps?_ Legolas wondered – had not moved to allow the elves passage. Indeed, the surrounding trees had instead made them a path which did not require the diseased tree to move.

With a sense of dread, Legolas wondered what was waiting for them further south. _Is there anything we can do against such evil?_ He wondered, _or are we already too late?_


	3. Orcs

Disclaimer: I own nothing recognisable

Orcs

The forest got progressively darker over the next few days. Legolas pressed on, knowing that they could not fight this evil if they did not go to its source. Fewer trees moved for the elves, making passage through the canopy difficult, and the unearthly fungus was becoming more abundant the further they travelled. Down in the undergrowth, tree trunks were often covered in a foul, sticky purple-black substance, and a foul smell permeated the air from misshapen growths and blackened leaves.

Legolas divided the company into three smaller groups, knowing that if things went wrong, the mission was more important than his pride. Eleni and Tingallos, both highly experienced Captains, each took some warriors, and the three groups travelled south separately, leaving two hundred metres between the groups. _Hopefully_, Legolas reasoned, _even if some of us are slain or captured, the others may continue the mission. _

A shout of alarm cut through the stagnant air, and Legolas whipped around, his comrades also searching the darkness to their left. Eleni's group were that way, and when a piercing whistle followed, the six young warriors sprang into action. That whistle was a call for reinforcements, the very first alarm call they had learnt as novices.

Eleni was in trouble.

Legolas ran, blindly, through the dark treetops, Aldanna at his left and Rílglín at his right, closely followed by Tathar and the Brethils. There was one disadvantage to splitting up into three smaller patrols: they only had one healer, Brethildíl, who was in Legolas' subgroup.

If there were injuries, Brethildíl was the only one with more than basic first aid training.

As they ran, Legolas berated himself for separating the groups so much. Two hundred meters, while not a far distance in the plains, or even in the northern forest, was potentially too far in this unco-operative, half-dead, diseased part of the woods. It was two hundred meters of ducking and jumping past immobile branches, carefully watching their footing for treacherous footfalls and the slippery fungus.

Someone let out a cry, as they stumbled, but Legolas did not slow down to help. Eleni's group were more important, right now.

A second shout accompanied the loss of Rílglín from Legolas' side, but he kept running, with three still following. Finally, sounds filtered through the trees, strangely muffled by the heavy, stagnant air. Legolas, Aldanna, Tathar and Brethildíl reached the battlefield, where they hesitated only long enough to see that Eleni was beset by wargs, before joining the fray.

As Legolas launched two arrows at the warg attacking Eleni, Aldanna leapt from the treetops in her signature entrance, landing square between three wargs and their riders, her swords already hacking them to pieces as she flew. By the time Legolas had felled two more orcs, Aldanna was surrounded by inanimate flesh.

Tathar stayed by Legolas' side in the canopy, systematically taking down the orcs as they attempted to get the best of Eleni, Tuilë and Nímlos.

Kalhîth exploded from his own battle, fiercely calling a Silvan battlecry, bits of severed orcs flying in all directions as he hacked up his enemies.

Legolas and Tathar turned their attention to Nar-rhîw and Mallaer, as the brothers fought back-to-back, defending themselves against orcs from all directions. They were desperately outnumbered, but holding their own valiantly with their swords weaving a net of silver around the brothers. Black blood flung from their blades, staining their clothes and the bark of the trees surrounding them.

Legolas, from his perch above the main battle, was surprised when the battle didn't fizzle down to nothing. This was not, it seemed, a random patrol of orcs which Eleni had stumbled across. Indeed, as the numbers grew, Legolas caught sight of Glínornmír, perched on a branch perhaps ten metres away from him, signalling to Legolas with hand signals that the orcs and wargs numbered almost one hundred in all.

Legolas nodded back, and murmured to Tathar, "go left, we'll form a triangle with Glínornmír. Shoot until you run out of arrows, then it's time for knives."

Tathar gripped Legolas' shoulder, with a solemn look into his best friend's eyes, then turned, expertly avoiding snagging his strung bow on the dark trees as he made his way to the designated spot. Legolas took a deep breath, steadying himself. One hundred enemies, half of them wargs, were not good news. Eleni's group of seven warriors, and Legolas' six, meant they were outnumbered almost ten to one. And Brethilríl and Rílglín hadn't even caught up yet, Legolas noticed with a frown of concern.

As the battle continued, Legolas emptied his quiver, eventually drawing his knives and dropping to the forest floor. _Where's Tingallos?_ He wondered, feeling keenly the absence of archers in the fray, as all arrows had been spent already, and there was no respite during which they could reclaim their ammunition.

Finally Tingallos arrived, heralded only by the singing of bows and the thudding of silent arrows embedding themselves in skulls, necks and hearts. Celebglín joined Legolas, fighting a group of wargs, and Legolas noted with wry amusement that swords were, indeed, better for killing wargs than long knives. The warrior seemed to perform a deadly dance, where his partners were the wargs, and his audience applauded with the sound of black blood dripping from leaves and branches.

Legolas fitted himself into the dance seamlessly, twirling his knives quickly, darting in and out of the wargs' reach as he slashed and stabbed their throats, aiming for the arteries.

Somehow the fray changed, bringing Legolas back to back with Aldanna, until Tuilë screamed, the sound piercing the din of battle, causing all the elves to instinctively freeze, before returning to battle ferociously. Legolas might have been terrified, seeing Aldanna slicing through her enemies without remorse, or seeing sweet little Galenmír dropping to Legolas' other side to viciously cut his way through to Tuilë, but Legolas was too numb and shocked.

His knives became a deadly extension of himself, and Legolas immersed himself if the ebb and flow of battle, fighting with all his energy until he came to the edge of the battle, and faced no more wargs or orcs.

Turning around, he launched right back into the sea of orcs, catching sight of Tuilë, crumpled on the ground mere metres away, where Brethildíl attempted to staunch the bleeding while Aglarmoth and Belegcû desperately defended them from the snapping jaws of fevered wargs.

Legolas soon felt Tathar's steady presence at his side, his sword splitting flesh as easily at it did air. The flashing Legolas had come to expect from his knives was conspicuously absent, and it irked Legolas somewhat that he couldn't keep track of his comrades by the flashing of the sun on their blades, but he swallowed his discomfort and concentrated instead on killing the orcs. If even one escaped to bring word to Dol Guldor of the elves' presence, their mission would be over before it even began.

Legolas hacked up a warg with his right knife, while defending himself from its rider with his left, and he met the orc's black eyes as it died, his right knife shoved deep into its gut, and Legolas sneered as the glint of life died in its eyes as he twisted his blade, pulling it free of the orc, letting it fall to the forest floor, blood spreading across the already blood-soaked ground, blackening it even further.

Finally, the battle seemed to be winding down, and Legolas noticed that not all of his people were present. Brethilríl and Rílglín were still missing, and half of Tingallos' group were absent. Actually, Tingallos himself was missing, Legolas noted, throwing a knife into the back of one of the few remaining orcs as it faced Galenmír.

As Legolas breathed deeply, the elves picked their way through the trees, closing into a group around Brethildíl as she tended Tuilë.

"She'll live," the healer announced, when she noticed the warriors gathered around her. Legolas sighed with relief, glad that death had not stolen any of his warriors in their first test.

"Legolas!" He whipped around, to find Tingallos, Rílglín and Encalion running back to the group. Rílglín, Legolas was happy to see, sported no injuries from his fall on the way here. "We got the deserters," the scout panted, leaning forward as he struggled to breathe, clearly having run a long way. "Brethilríl is holding one prisoner."

"Good job," Legolas gasped, surprised when it hurt to speak. He hadn't noticed until now that he was winded.

Tingallos stepped up in front of Legolas then, kneeling before the Prince. "I apologise for overstepping my bounds," he stated solemnly, trying to control his desperate breathing. "My team were the last to arrive, and I assessed the situation as if I were in command. It will not happen again. I ordered four soldiers to stand guard against deserters, and to stay out of the main combat."

Tingallos bowed his head, and Legolas realised that the older elf was waiting for Legolas to condemn him, or to punish him. But instead he chuckled tiredly, leaning down to pull the warrior to his feet. "Tingallos," he began, looking straight into the master archer's eyes, "I could not have wished for a better outcome. When I arrived, we were too outnumbered to even consider keeping anyone out to contain deserters. And yet, if any had escaped to bring word of us to the fortress, we would all be dead by tomorrow. Not to mention I was already two warriors down, thanks to that unearthly fungus."

"With all due respect, sir," Tingallos protested, "I still ordered your warriors as if they were mine, and two were not even in my subgroup."

"You did the right thing," Legolas said slowly, emphasising each word. "You taught me that I can only ever act on what information I have at the time, and you taught me that I should never be afraid of action when I know what I am doing is the right thing to do. Today, you were the only one in a position to make the call to set a guard, and you did. If you had followed standing orders, and simply responded to the call for backup, without adding your commands to the warriors, we would all be hunted down by tomorrow evening."

Tingallos was so relieved that he hugged Legolas tightly, before stepping back, bowing once, and then joining the circle of warriors around Tuilë and Brethildíl. Legolas decided not to burn the orcs, for fear of setting the forest alight, instead opting to move further south, the direction from which Eleni reported they had come.

Legolas hoped this was the only group of orcs heading north, and that their commanders would assume they had been defeated within the circle of Tauriel's Guard. It would buy them at least four weeks of anonymity – for no orc army could travel through Mirkwood faster than the elven warriors of the Greenwood.


	4. The Forest Is Evil

Disclaimer: I own nothing recognisable.

3 The Forest is Evil

As they moved further south, the trees spoke to them less often, and less willingly. The Sindarin members of the patrol were the first to lose verbal contact with the trees, and soon the halfblooded – including Legolas – could no longer hear the voices of the trees, as the diseased trees became dominant, silencing the healthy trees.

As more and more trees fell silent, and spoke to fewer warriors, the eerie darkness seemed to drape over the world like a blanket. The three subgroups reconvened when the silence became oppressing, none of them particularly wanting to sleep separately. "This silence is killing me," Brethildíl commented, searching the thick darkness as if she hoped for a stray beam of light to appear. "How do the other races cope, living like this every day?"

Aglarmoth answered, his wise old eyes gleaming in the little light from their campfire. "They have never heard the voices of the trees, never understood the whisper of the wind. This silence is not natural, it is tainted with darkness and disease."

"We cannot send a message home," Nímlos observed, in a small voice.

This made Legolas feel particularly unsafe, and the silence seemed to press upon his ears with actual weight.

"There is only one thing to do," Tingallos stated gravely. "We must continue our mission."

"Have you ever seen this, Tingallos?" Aldanna asked, hoping that her father's friend would have some idea of how to calm the panic which threatened to overwhelm her.

"Only in individual trees," Tingallos confided, "or perhaps small pockets of forest. I'm afraid this complete silence is new to me, too."

The uneasy silence of the forest soon became the least of their problems, though. Rílglín and Encalion scouted around the campsite while Brethilríl and Tuilë sorted dinner, returning with concern about the strange things they had seen in the forest.

As the silence was so discomforting, Legolas decided that the group could sleep wherever and however they could. Glínornmir was quick to volunteer for watch, for he felt it was unlikely he could find rest in this unnatural darkness in any case. Brethildíl and her brother kept close together, and their comrades noted with a wistful smile how they fell asleep, holding each other's hands, as they had long ago as children. Nar-rhîw and Mallaer mimicked the siblings on the other side of the clearing, and Eleni held her daughter close while Nímlos slept. Encalion sought comfort in his father's embrace, Tingallos holding his only child protectively to his chest. Galenmír likewise had his father, Celebglín, to protect him from the encroaching despair and fear. Tuilë felt safe in Aglarmoth's arms, knowing that her husband could and would protect her from anything and everything evil.

Legolas and Tathar, feeling keenly the separation from their families, drew comfort from each other, each being the other's closest thing to a brother. Legolas had never known his true brothers, one having died at the end of the Second Age, and the other in the Third Age, when the old fortress had been abandoned, taken over by darkness to become Dol Guldor. Tathar had no siblings, and the spaces in his heart had always been filled by his friends, whom he'd grown up with.

Aldanna refused to bunk with Tathar and Legolas, though they made the offer several times, reminding her of their many sleepovers as children and young trainees. Stubbornly insisting that she sleep in the trees, Aldanna tried to draw comfort from the usually welcoming forest, as she chose the least diseased tree to be her perch. While her eighteen companions paired up, drawing comfort from family, friends, or conveniently lonely comrades, the strong blonde elleth insisted on rising above her circumstances.

This particular personality trait had served her well in the past, allowing her to see the impromptu barrel ride to Laketown as an adventure when she was eleven, and more recently, had allowed her and Legolas to discover that the Necromancer was indeed real and in Dol Guldor. That had been thirty-six years earlier, and the encroaching darkness had not yet fully claimed the forest, except perhaps immediately surrounding the old fortress.

Today, though, Aldanna's stubbornness proved to be closer to stupidity than heroism. The voiceless tree she nestled into did not welcome her like its own child, embracing her in a supportive hollow or fork. Rather, it shrouded her in a shower of dead leaves, when she climbed to her chosen perch, and when she settled into the least uncomfortable position she could find, it seemed to move slightly, just enough the ensure that knots and broken sticks stuck into her back, and bits of crumbling bark and dust got into her eyes.

Fuming, but refusing to go back down, Aldanna insisted on sleeping in the tree, and soon her companions fell asleep, many of them in the comforting arms of a family member. Rílglín had also offered to rest with her, but Aldanna had no wish to encourage the ellon, whom she had no feelings for other than friendship. She admitted, if only to herself, that Rílglín's arms would have been much warmer and softer than this diseased tree, but she shook herself out of it, deciding that she was going to prove to the others that these trees weren't a lost cause.

It was the darkest part of the night, and the watchers had nearly no light to see by, when Aldanna fell from the tree with a muffled thump, loud enough to wake only those closest to her – Rílglín, Legolas and Tathar. Rílglín rushed over to her immediately, and his panicked assessment of her possible injuries shocked Legolas to the core. "She's not breathing!" the smitten ellon panicked, trying to wake the listless warrior he'd fallen in love with. Tathar wasted no time in waking their healer.

Brethildíl pushed Rílglín out of the way, letting him fall to the ground hard, his should leaving a dent in the forest floor. The healer knelt by her friend, remembering many times in the past when she'd been faced with such a situation – Aldanna, unconscious before her, for unknown reasons. This time, though, no help was forthcoming from more experienced healers, and her dear, stupid friend was not breathing.

Brethildíl ignored the protests of the warriors as she cleared Aldanna's airway, finding a wet wad of detritus and dust which came free in Brethildíl's delicate fingers, dripping sickly as she hurriedly wiped it on the closest piece of cloth – which happened to be Rílglín's cloak. Without pausing to apologise, she manhandled Aldanna to lie flat on her back, tipped her head backward, and took a deep breath, pinching her nose as she forced air into her lungs. A second rescue breath followed, and Brethildíl nearly cried with relief when Aldanna's chest rose, showing that Brethildíl was successfully breathing for her.

In the near absolute darkness, it was difficult even for Elf eyes to see, but Brethildíl didn't need her eyes to treat her patient. She found Aldanna's sternum easily, pushing down on her chest, counting aloud. She reached thirty, and swapped again to breathing, forcing Aldanna's lungs to work.

As she moved to start pumping again, someone else started counting aloud, and Brethildíl, grateful, looked up to see the vague outline of a tall warrior.

Aglarmoth was helping!

Brethildíl kept breathing for Aldanna, each time Aglarmoth paused in his pumping, while their companions watched, many of them blinded by fear as much as by the darkness and silence. Glínornmír switched with Aglarmoth after a few minutes, when the spearman started to get tired, his rhythm faltering as he counted the beats aloud.

Brethildíl refused to give up. _You can't die on me now, Aldanna!_ She mentally screamed at her friend. _I've saved you too many times to lose you now!_

While the drama went on, in the darkness, only a few well-placed warriors could see what was happening. Some guessed, by the warriors' counting, that someone was manually breathing and pumping the heart of someone else, but the smothering darkness, combined with being woken after only a few hours of sleep, made for many of the warriors not knowing what was happening.

Perhaps that was for the best, though, when the relatively loud Elvish numbers drew the attention of some strange creatures, which clicked as they approached.

Nar-rhîw and Mallaer were amongst the warriors who heard the clicking, and drew their knives and swords, for none could shoot in this absolute blackness. Others were with them, but unidentified, and Nar-rhîw soon knew nothing more than the clicking, and his attempt to strike the source of the noise.

Nar-rhîw recognised the warrior next to him when Belegcû swore harshly, before falling, limp, to the ground. He lucked out when he slashed to the right, as an itchy substance sprayed over his leg, and the clicking stopped from that direction. Now, there seemed to be only one source of clicking, and Mallaer's sword swished blindly through the air, silencing the clicks forever.

Belegcû was already unconscious when Nar-rhîw stumbled to the ground in an attempt to check on his condition. As Nar-rhîw blindly checked Belegcû's breathing, pulse, and the thick substance coating his knee, the felled warrior took one gasping breath, then shuddered, a spasm coursing through his whole body, before sighing out one last breath. For all appearances, he was dead.

In stark contrast, a few metres away, cheers rang out, as Brethildíl leaned back, and Aldanna breathed again.


	5. Poisoned

Disclaimer: I own nothing recognisable.

4. Poisoned

Brethildíl was exhausted. Emotionally, physically, she wasn't sure which, but wresting Aldanna back from the dead had taken its toll on her. This part of the forest was truly evil, and she could feel, even now, what seemed like thousands of eyes just outside her sight, watching her for any sign of weakness.

She let Rílglín and Legolas tell Aldanna off for her foolishness, rocking back on her heels, a tired grin plastered on her face as her companions congratulated her, a few hearty slaps on her shoulder nearly knocking her over. Two identical shouts of despair caught her attention, from the brothers Mallaer and Nar-rhîw.

She barely noticed Celebglín reporting to Legolas, or Legolas ordering six warriors to flush the area of the foes. All that mattered was the patient – whoever it was.

Brethildíl wished, not for the last time, that they had brought another healer on this mission, as she forced herself to her feet, acutely feeling her lack of sleep and her recent efforts.

Her heart jarred to a halt when she rushed into the clearing where the fight had taken place, and she stumbled, saved from falling only by Kalhîth's sudden grip on her waist.

Belegcû lay face up on the detritus, his pale face visible in the limited starlight which penetrated the clearing.

_First Aldanna, the closest thing I have to a sister, and now Belegcû_, she thought despairingly. Though his relationship to her was undefined, she knew that she cared deeply for the ellon, and had discussed the matter with Aldanna during any number of sleepovers. _Is this forest trying to kill everyone that matters to me? Is my beloved brother next? Or perhaps Legolas, or Tathar, my oldest friends?_

Pulling herself together, and forcing her thoughts and emotions under tight control, Brethildíl pushed free of Kalhîth's arms, falling to her knees by Belegcû's side. Putting on her clinical professionalism, she tried to pretend that she was treating just any patient, not this emotionally confusing ellon.

Firstly she checked his airway, planning to move on to circulation and finally his injuries. What she found shocked her.

He wasn't breathing, but not for lack of trying.

His airway had swollen.

"Get my kit!" she called, not knowing or caring who responded. A moment later, her kit appeared before her, and she found by feel the medication she needed: a native herb to the Greenwood, one which Lord Elrond had deemed too dangerous for therapeutic use, as when used long term it could cause weak bones.

But it also opened airways.

She took a small pinch of the dried herb, and sprinkled it down her patient's throat. Closing his mouth so as to force his throat to absorb the herb, she moved on to checking his pulse. It was weak, but present.

The injury to his knee was strange. It looked like a spider bite, with swelling and two piercings, but it was far too large.

A noise caught her attention. Tingallos and Celebglín had identified the foes by their corpses.

"Giant spiders!" Celebglín called.

Brethildíl closed her eyes, forcing herself to calm down. She'd treated giant spider bites before, and survival was fully expected.

But he shouldn't be unconscious with a swollen airway from a bite to the knee. She had only before encountered painful flesh wounds from bites – it was the sting which could paralyse, and which the spiders used to eat their prey alive.

_Paralysis!_ she realised. Quickly she tested her patient's reflexes, discovering that he was, indeed, paralysed.

_There is a sting, too_, she deduced. Nar-rhîw's account of the attack was sketchy at best but she did eventually find the sting site – on his neck, a pus-filled lesion blossomed, hidden from her initial examination by its location on the back of his neck.

.

Belegcû woke to a world of pain. After a few moments, he could localise the pain to his left knee and the back of his neck, though his throat felt distinctly sore, and the mere act of breathing was noticeably difficult.

He panicked when he suddenly couldn't breathe, gasping for breath, desperately trying to get air into his lungs. A soothing voice pierced the otherwise meaningless noise, and he concentrated on that silver sound: it was Brethildíl.

Latching onto the sound, Belegcû tried to listen but his panic soon overwhelmed him, and his head started spinning strangely.

Two small hands suddenly appeared at his sides, and the cool, silvery voice pierced the fog of his thoughts. "Breathe into my hands, Belegcû," she directed, and he did the only thing he could: he pushed his ribcage outwards, pressing against her hands. "Good," she murmured. "Slowly, now. Hold a second. Now open your mouth and huff all of that air out."

The delicate hands on his ribcage pushed with surprising strength as he followed the abridged directions, and all the air in Belegcû's lungs left him with a whoosh. His next breath in was easy, and again Brethildíl forced him to breathe out, still talking to him to slow his breathing down.

His vision stopped wavering, and focus finally returned.

Someone handed him a cup of water, and he drank greedily, noticing the faint tang of herbs. He couldn't begin to guess what the herbs were, being no healer, but he trusted this young healer like he had trusted no other in his Age in Middle-Earth.

"I love you, Brethildíl," he thought, before falling asleep, though he wasn't entirely sure if he'd spoken aloud.

.

Brethildíl rocked back on her heels, and a hand came down on her shoulder. She looked up to see Aldanna, with a pained grin. "I told you," she rasped, throat still raw from the abuse she'd so recently suffered.

"He's on strong herbs," Brethildíl retorted. "Lord Elrond won't even use some of them. He doesn't know what he's saying."

"Or he doesn't know he's saying it aloud," Aldanna returned, an eyebrow raised.

Shaking her head, Brethildíl checked Aldanna over once again, though it seemed that the episode in the tree had been short-lived, with no lasting effects.

Dawn broke some hours later, to reveal eighteen warriors huddled together. Tuilë, on watch, was glad to see her husband, Aglarmoth, sleeping peacefully. They had both been involved in the fight against the spiders, and though he had never acknowledged it, Tuilë knew that any of them might have been stung, being as they were unable to see their enemies.

Tuilë smiled warmly when she saw that Legolas, Tathar, Brethilríl, Brethildíl and Aldanna slept tightly pressed together, sharing not only body heat but also comfort and protection. They reminded her of her own agemates, Eleni, Nar-rhîw and Mallaer. The four of them had been born during the same decade, much like the five agemates huddled together tonight. With an eerie premonition, Tuilë realised that somehow, she knew, both groups of agemates would live or die together, as they had grown up, trained, and fought together, whether they all died in the coming war or lived to sail West.

There was a strange comfort in knowing that they would be together, each of their groups, as they always had been.

But Tuilë was no Galadriel. Her premonition might be just a meaningless fantasy. She liked to think it was true, though.

Her gaze wandered over to Belegcû, sleeping soundly not far from the huddled young warriors. She had not yet been born when Belegcû had lost his agemates, and she felt a profound sadness at the thought of the ellon being separated forever from the once tightly knit group of Elves. Each twelfth year a Warrior's Trial would be held, and many youths would compete, but in recent years each Trial had fewer and fewer graduates, for fewer children were born to the Eldar as time progressed. Belegcû had been born in the heyday of the Second Age, and had been one of perhaps three hundred Elves throughout Middle-Earth to compete in his Trial. One hundred of those had been from the Greenwood, and ninety-nine had died in the seven years of the Last Alliance.

Tuilë, Mallaer, Nar-rhîw and Eleni had been the only children of the Greenwood during the twelve-year period they had been born in. It was the early Third Age, and their people were still putting themselves back together after the loss of most of their army. Really it was no surprise that all four of them had become warriors, for their country had sorely needed new warriors during the early Third Age.

As she settled in to take watch for the night, she idly wished that the starlight could filter through the trees better, for there was little to be seen. Turning her attention to her ears, Tuilë waited for the time to pass, glad that no more spiders came to harass them.


End file.
